


The Uncollected Stories

by TherealKyena



Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beating, Blood and Injury, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Injury Recovery, Jaleth is angery, Kyena is hurt, M/M, Major Character Injury, Manipulation, Pain, Suffering, beatings, oh so much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 09:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10434699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TherealKyena/pseuds/TherealKyena
Summary: These stories will not go in any particular order. These are the one shots and scenes that did not make it into their intended fanfics or didn't flow well. They are glimpses into the lives of my OCs beyond the harshness of their life chronicled in the major fics.





	1. Together

**Author's Note:**

> These stories will not go in any particular order. These are the one shots and scenes that did not make it into their intended fanfics or didn't flow well. They are glimpses into the lives of my OCs beyond the harshness of their life chronicled in the major fics.

A thudding noise made Jaleth’s recently closed eyes burst open again. It couldn’t have been Azshulaena, she was still fast asleep in her room. Kalendris was just put to bed and usually fell asleep quickly for an active toddler.

Her eyes were rapidly swelling shut, her nose was broken, her lip split, along with her eyebrow. Blood coated her face, made it shine in the growing daylight. Jaleth had no idea why he was still awake in the far wing of Elunheim, the one that Kyena and Sheodraen had given to him and his family to stay in while they took the other.

He looked at her savaged face as she shouldered open his door clutching her broken ribs. Bruises were forming on everywhere on her body. She spat a molar at his feet, along with a good sized gob of blood. “Kyena!” He gasped, throwing himself from the bed and to her side. “What in Elune’s name happened?”

“Sheodraen Starheart thought to beat me in my own bed.” She ground out through the blood and a few more broken teeth. “If you think I look bad you should see him.”

Jaleth clenched his jaw and led Kyena over to the bed, wrapping her in a blanket before he turned to leave. He had business with-

“Don’t be a hero, Jaleth. I don’t need saving. I can take care of myself.”

“Kyena he _beat_ you.”

Kyena shrugged. “And I’ll be the laughingstock of the century that I couldn’t control my mate, so what does it matter. He’s only a stupid man, Jaleth, no offense. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

He took a deep breath and sat next to Kyena, gathering up a battered hand gingerly in his own. “Why did he do this, Kyena?” The veins in his neck stood out, pulsing in tune with his fast beating heart. His teeth ground together. His mouth was half a snarl. The tousled Seawhisper blue-black hair fell down past his shoulders. Usually it was half tied to keep it from his eyes but while he slept he let it loose.

She spat out another mouthful of blood and snuffed snot back into her nose. “Not entirely sure.”

“There has to be some reason behind him-”

The muscles in Kyena’s jaws tightened. Fury was plain in her eyes. Her hands were clenched into fists so tight her fingers turned white. “I said I don’t know Jaleth!” She shook next to him with her barely contained rage. He could feel it roll off her in waves.

She let her eyes fall to the floor and let out a short, exhausted sigh. “He thinks I’m a murderer. He thinks that I killed my children.” She smirked but the smile didn’t touch her eyes as she looked at him. “He thinks I did it to spite him. To bring him more pain after Rynath’s death.” She snorted and shook her head, taking her loose hand and wiping some blood from her eyes.

“You didn’t murder those children. You had no control-”

“He doesn’t care.” She met his eyes again. "He’s a Silverblade, Jaleth.” She deadpanned. “Silverblades and madness dance closely together.”

Jaleth’s arched his brow. “A Silverblade? How?”

Her eyes danced over his face as she searched for a lie. She’d been hunting down Sheodraen’s true parents. His mother and his father. She was lucky enough to find an archive that still held some old Highborne records. Someone had thought to save them during the War of the Ancients and Kyena praised them for it. Caelen Starheart and Viersin Silverblade. She was just a young pretty thing when her first child was born, barely of age, perhaps they even lied about it.

Rynath and Sheodraen had shared the same father. She remembered vividly the time she first saw Rynath with his silvery seafoam green peach fuzz crowning his head. He was nearly a newborn back then, ripped from Caelen far too soon. Myn’ra had lied to her about whether or not she knew Rynath’s father. In this record, it said that a certain Seawhisper girl had been there, strangely sharing Myn’ra’s same name.

This was why Kyena could enlist Myn’ra’s help in protecting those children. Three silver haired ‘bastard’ children.

But Jaleth did not need to know. Not yet. He had his mate’s loss to worry about, a young headstrong daughter and a young child who pushed his limits. A little boy whom he named after his beloved aunt Caelen. He looked at her now with a bit of softness in his gaze.

Kyena leaned her forehead against his and let her eyes fall closed. She was aware of his fingers leaving hers, a twinge of sadness at the loss of their warmth on her own. This was the first time in a long time that anyone touched her without cruelty in their bones. Without hatred and anger and madness. She had melted into it before. The warmth that he always had in his eyes now that she had grown closer to him. She’d talked endlessly about whatever topic Jaleth asked her about. She showed him how to hunt and track. What wild plants were edible and which to avoid. Which ones you could use in medicine, a craft that Landrelia had taught her. She taught him to make fishing traps on the river that flowed not too far from Elunheim, giving them fresh river trout on an almost daily basis.

He learned how to move like a Sentinel. How to shoot a bow. Myn’ra had made fun of him endlessly for skinning the inside of his arm because he didn’t know how to hold the bowstring correctly yet. That and the fact that Kyena hid all the armguards from him so that he could learn this lesson firsthand. Even Kyena had a scar where her bow took off a few layers of skin when she was just a young girl. She thought that she was strong enough to pull back the bow and was promptly reminded why her father didn’t want her touching the bow. Jiasia herself told him that when she wanted him to use her bow, she’d give it to him. Then he showed her his own scar from his run in with Zin’rhok, formerly Stormbow.

He kissed her. In the woods. After she clapped for him finally being able to shoot straight and hit something dead center. He had always been better with a sword in his hands.

He angled his face again, his lips warm against hers. Soft. “Sin ana sin.” He whispered. She pulled away and tried to wipe the blood from his forehead where they touched. He grabbed up her hands lightly and set them on his chest, above his thumping heart. “You bleed, I bleed. You are the blood of my blood. You are the first thing that made me happy again, Kyena.”

“Jaleth...it’s wrong for this to keep going on.” The more thoughtful part of her brain made her say the words her heart cried out for her not to. He tensed for a split second, his hands inches from cupping her face. He looked at her softly and gave her a nod before he leaned away from her.

Kyena screamed at herself internally. She hated her logical brain. She didn’t want to hurt Landrelia, even if she never came back. She didn’t want to see the hurt and betrayal etched across her face when she wanted to come back home to her mate and he was in someone else’s bed.

But there was another part of her that made her crawl closer to him after he fixed up her cuts and her bruises. She pressed close to his back, her arm draped over his chest, her leg thrown over him, pulling him closer.

After a few moments, Jaleth turned his head on the pillow to look at her out of the corner of his eye. “I thought that you said this couldn’t go on any longer, Kyena?” There was an edge to his voice, a sarcastic lilt or a mirthful one. Kyena didn’t care. She could see his smirk.

That was enough.

Her logical brain crashed at his smile. “I lied.” She replied, rolling herself on top of him. “I _lied._ ” And she showed him that she was a terrible liar until it was halfway through the day.

She could be enough. For him. For Azshulaena. For Kalendris. She could be enough. She could be more than the hatred and anger that was Sheodraen. She wasn’t worthless. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t a murderer.

She was good enough for Jaleth Seawhisper.

And that was enough.


	2. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rynath is faced with a choice that he never wanted to make.

_ A few weeks before Lan’s capture... _

He slid open the door to Shavaene’s cottage. Immediately, the scent of paints hit him. He breathed it in deeply, his eyes closing slightly with a happy smile on his face. “Shavaene? Are you home?” He pushed aside the curtain that divided her painting space from her ‘bedroom’. “Shavaene?” There was a dark shape sitting on her bed, much too large to be her.

His hand went to his sword.

“Lithmyr, relieve him of his weapon.”

“Fuck you, Nilan. What do you want?” His eyes slid around the space looking for Lithmyr.

At that, Nilan regarded Rynath differently. His lips pulled into a smile as he cocked his head at him, taking him in with those glittering silver eyes. He held up a hand, a signal for Lithmyr no doubt. “You know what I want, Rynath.”

_ Of course he wants Lan. But why is he  _ **_here?_ **

Nilan snickered at the confusion that was plain on Rynath’s face. “You know, Shavaene didn’t go quietly like I thought she would. Too much like her mother I suppose.”

“Where is she?”

“You Moonblades are all the same. Always have one goal in mind.” He let out a long suffering sigh, pinching g at the bridge of his nose. “Dear Shavaene is unharmed, Rynath, and she shall remain that way unless you don't give me what I want.”

“You think I'm just going to give her up? One of the women who raised me? Who loved me like one of her own?”

“Yes.” His face broke into a menacing grin. “In the end, you’ll all serve. One just has to apply the right pressure.” Nilan regarded him like one would an insect on a board. Interesting to look at but with a hint of disgust.

He stared in horror at the creature in front of him, lip curling into a snarl. “Torture me all you like, I'm not giving Min'da Lan up.”

“See, torturing you would get me nowhere. No, no. Little Rynath, I’m going to torture  _ Shavaene _ .” He pulled himself up from Shavaene’s bed and patted Nath’s shoulder as he exited her bedroom. He made his way into the small kitchen and started helping himself to the dried fruit that she was always snacking on.

Rynath was shaking with anger. “Leave her alone.”

“Give me what I want, and Shavaene will remain largely unharmed. If you don’t.” He dragged a finger over his throat. “And what a shame that would be, young Rynath.”

Rynath let his eyes fall closed as he begged Elune to forgive him.

“Still deliberating, Rynath? Allow me to add some extra incentive.” At that, his smirk grew into a snarling smile. “Shavaene carries your child.”

Rynath’s eyes flew open as he regarded Nilan with horror. His lip quivered slightly as he took in another breath, one that he hoped would steady him. Then, his shoulders slumped forward and he begged Lan to forgive him this time.

“What do you want me to do?”


	3. Healing

_A few days after the crash..._

“She’s strong, Falkhen. She’ll pull through.” Jilaana whispered, brushing the long unkempt hair from his eyes. “Ishetii won’t leave us.”

“She knows better.” His voice was tight as his hand searched for hers, her slim fingers cold in his larger ones. Though they were calloused and rough, slender scars here and there, they had the same hands. Falk’s were just a bit thicker but they had the same long fingers. Like their mother. Delicate, yet hardy. They shared the same hair color. They laughed at the same jokes. They loved the same food.

Ishe knew what Falk was thinking before he knew himself. 

He looked at his sister, elder by a mere minute, laying broken on the table in front of him. “Ishetii. If you can hear me, please. Please, my sister, wake up.” He begged, fingers clasping around hers tightly. “Please. I need you to wake up.”

Ishetii let out a groan but her eyes didn’t flutter open like Falk wished they would. A shattered leg, crushed ribs and countless internal bruising kept his sister from waking. Both of her long curling horns were cracked. She was lucky she even still had any. Dozens of small cuts lined her face from debris. He looped a piece of her blonde hair around his finger and remembered when their mother would do that absentmindedly when they were children.

Falk let out a sigh and rested his head next to her arm.

~~~~~~

A day passed. Then another. And another. Jilaana said that Ishetii just had to rest and recuperate from her ordeal. Her body had taken a great beating during the crash, this was just her body’s way of recovering and repairing. 

_ “Falkhen?” The question bounced off the smoldering wreckage around him. He remembered everyone panicking and running, bracing themselves wherever they could for impact. He remembered that in the chaos he lost hold of Ishetii as they plummeted to this strange planet. _

_ He walked out of the wreck relatively unscathed. The same couldn’t be said for others. His eyes scanned for the origins of the quavering voice. _

_ “Falkhen?” Resounded from behind him. _

_ He whirled around. _

_ Ishetii was dragging herself to him on mangled legs, half her skin melted to the bone. In her right hand she carried her severed left.  _

_ “Falkhen?” She cried hoarsely. He saw more pieces of skin slough off the bone. More flesh and meat exposed. _

“Falkhen!” He was shaken awake, the face of Phebenora appearing above him. Her burns looked well. Better than they had been before. She thought they wouldn’t leave lasting scars if she kept applying a salve leftover from Draenor. “Ishetii’s been crying for you in her sleep. You should go to her.”

He hauled himself from his cot. Nora looked away while he tugged on some pants and a shirt and made his way out towards the healer’s hut. It was one of the first real structures they cobbled together. When he reached it, he parted the cloth curtain that was a makeshift door and saw Ishetii hauling herself from her mat.

She looked up when she saw him skid to a halt and pulled her lips into her normal half smirk. “I’m not,” She drew a shaky breath, her hand gripping her bruised ribs. “I’m not dead yet.”

Falk couldn’t help but let out a laugh.


	4. Legacy

_ The Fake Machaera’heim, Hyjal _

_ Roughly fifty years into Lan’s five thousand year imprisonment _

They wandered the gardens together, Lan's hand resting lightly on the inside of Fan's elbow. They laughed about a joke that Lan said, watching butterflies dance in the breeze. Lan remembered when she would walk the saber pens in place of these gardens. She let her other hand trail along the endless blooms as winter turned to spring. She didn’t even mind the mud that had become many of the different paths around these gardens. Many times she’d even peel off her luxuriously made sandals and walk barefoot just so she could feel alive. Feel something growing under her feet once more. How many of her nights had passed without seeing the moon high above her? How long had she gone without moonlight to refresh her? 

Fan stopped for a moment and picked a fiery red bloom, tucking the stem behind her ear. They exchanged a smile and continued on their way but Lan caught a glimpse of a figure striding towards them. She'd know that short height anywhere. The dusky blue hair.

She pulled away from Fan a bit. He was always angrier when Lithmyr saw them together. Her hands went to her chest. She made herself smaller, folding in on herself. Easily looked over. Forgotten. "Leave." She gave Fan a begging glance, jerking her head back the direction they came.

He looked at her incredulously and shook his head. "No." He’d always been protective of her after they arrived. Keeping her company. Making sure Lithmyr stayed away from her. Sometimes, it felt like she was with friends.

"Yes." She insisted.

"Landrelia-"

"Fanarol, I beg of you, leave." Her voice was tight when she spoke, her whole body shaking with rage and with fear in equal parts.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh before he finally retreated. Lithmyr stood a few feet away, watching. His eyes were sad. His shoulders were curled around him, almost like that could give him the comfort he wanted so desperately. It wounded Lan. These poor men were dragged into this because of old oaths. Old oaths and blood. "You came." Even to Lan’s ears it sounded too forced. 

"My Grace asked me to." His voice was small when he spoke, such a far cry from any other time. He gave her a short bow. "Your wish is my command, Queen-"

"I am  _ no  _ queen, Lithmyr." She interrupted, holding up her palm to silence him. She was glad. This was the Lithmyr that listened. That danced like a puppet on strings. But she could see right through this Lithmyr. She shot a few more glances around the space, making sure that they weren’t being watched. Then she closed the distance quickly, chewing her lip until it bled. "Lithmyr, I know that my father has offered me to you. For the Hands of the Queen. High time they were made, am I correct in my assumption?" She still kept her voice low, just in case anyone was listening.

He finally was brave enough to lift his eyes from his boots. They must have been particularly interesting this time. "How did you know."

A statement. Not a question. Lan's lips twitched into a genuine smile. "I am my father's daughter. Do you really think I stay down in that room all the time?" And how terrified had she been every single second while she crept around looking for secrets?

He blinked at her as she stepped closer. He even looked a little confused. It made Lan smile sweetly at him. “Lithmyr, let’s stop pretending for just one moment. Friend to friend.” She reached forward slowly, sliding her hand down his forearm until she caught his hand in hers. He was nodding, inching closer and closer to her. Lan could’ve sworn that he was melting into her touch.

"I asked you here because what you have to do is an inevitability. What Fanarol has to do." She gripped his shoulder in her free hand, making him look her in the eyes. "Something extraordinary happens when Silverblade and Moonblade blood mixes. I’ve seen it. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants. An empire. An empire built on our blood and tears." 

Her nails dug into his flesh. She hoped that it would drive home her point. "There will come a time when we will have to do things that we don't want to, Lithmyr, and there is going to come a time when there are children here. Find Ellemayne. Give it to one of my children. Leave it for them to find. But make. Sure. They. Get. Ellemayne." To punctuate her sentence she gave him a hard shake. "Do you hear me? I will let you into my bed as many times as  _ he  _ needs, Lithmyr, if it means that my true legacy is passed on."

He narrowed his eyes at her, concern sparking in them. "You think you're going to die here." His tone was colored with shock.

Lan sighed and dropped her eyes from his. "We are all going to die. It's a fact of life, no matter how harsh." She looked up towards the moon and the stars spread out above them before she spoke again. "But, our lives can mean something. Save them. Protect them. Whoever they are, Lithmyr. Guard them with your life. Train them. Give them Ellemayne. A note. Something. It will bless them in their endeavors." She urged, once again her nails digging into his flesh. "Save them.”

She wanted to tell him so much more. Tell him to find Kyena and rescue them all. That only Nilan had to die for this to be over so that she would forget her vendetta against the Silverblades.

But fear and a heavy heart kept her mouth shut.

And so fate wove the threads.


	5. Another Side To This Story

_ The Fake Machaera’heim _

_ A few months after Landrelia talked to Lithmyr _

Lan was finally permitted to walk the gardens alone. Not that it made her feel any safer but sometimes it was nice to have a place away from everyone to cry and think about her life. 

Someone else was here, trying their hardest to keep in their cries.

Lan had plenty of experience with that sound.

Silently, or near enough in her stupid frilly dresses that Nilan made her wear. Such strange stylings to them as well. Nothing like Highborne women would wear. It was more like the Eredar that she had seen during the War of the Ancients. Nevertheless, she peeked around the corner and nearly reeled backwards.

Lithmyr was full on sobbing, one hand covering his mouth, the other over his heart. He looked even smaller than he’d ever been to Landrelia in that moment.

Lan’s first instinct was to turn tail and run.

Her second was to comfort him. She’d never heard a more broken sound come out of a living being.

“Lithmyr?” She said softly, hoping that she wouldn’t frighten him too much.

He whipped himself around, trying desperately to wipe away his tears and return his breathing to normal. He chewed at his still trembling lip and kept swiping his sleeves at the tears that kept dripping from his eyes. “Landrelia. Lan. My-My Queen.” He gave her a deep bow, sniffling as he did so.

She watched him sit on the bench he had vacated when she made her presence known. His back was to her once more, as if that would make her disappear or hide what she had seen. She stood there for a long while, still as stone, her feet slowly soaking up the coolness of the earth before she took a shaky step forward. Her hand drifted forward, trembling as she did so, and brushed against his tense shoulder.

There was no give in the muscle as her hand clasped around his shoulder lightly. It stretched the fabric of his tunic tightly over him, as if he was made of nothing but tension held within that small body. But it was such a difference to see someone who looked made of iron act like they were falling apart.

But, how many times had she pretended not to notice Kyena silently weeping in her stoic way? The hollowness that tugged away at her sister’s face the longer she was with Sheodraen? Perhaps this was why she wanted to bring a small amount of comfort to the poor man. He looked just as lost as his younger brother sometimes. There is a sadness that lingers in the eyes of people who feel they are imprisoned with no escape. A sort of resignation to their fate.

Then, after she stood behind him with her hand resting gently on his shoulder, she could feel the tension slowly leave his body. It was then that she started to move away from him so they could sit side by side.

He caught her arm before she could do so, sending her rabbit heart thumping in her chest.

“Don’t,” He murmured, the words almost impossible to hear. “Don’t leave me too.”

He closed his eyes as tears slipped down his cheeks anew and leaned his forehead against her forearm. “Don’t leave me, please.” He whispered, his lips brushing against her skin just barely, sending pinpricks of tickles upwards. It was almost enough to make her want to jerk her arm away and laugh. His grip was even loose enough to do so but she just kept herself frozen in place while she gathered her thoughts. He sounded like a child.

She slipped her arm from his hand, rubbing at it before she pulled Lithmyr’s arm around her waist as she drew closer. His hand froze, just inches from her back, as she pillowed his head against her stomach. Her hands cradled his head in her arms as she held tightly to him.

His arm tightened around her waist, the other snaking around her as he melted into the embrace. She found her fingers wrapping around a piece of his dark blue hair, her nails brushing through the silky strands.

Her mother’s long hair had been the same color.

_ Spread out like a cloak around her shoulders. How Lan had wished she had gotten the same color. Her father was mean to her. She hated how she looked like him. _

Noise brought her back to her senses. “-Being nice to me?”

She stopped running her fingers through his hair. Heat spread through her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Lithmyr, I didn’t hear what you said.”

He turned his head further out from her stomach so she might be able to hear better. “Why are you being so nice to me all of the sudden?” He sounded genuinely confused, perhaps even a bit wary of Landrelia.

“Because you are hurting,” She resumed her scratches on his scalp as she spoke, “And I am a Priestess of Elune, to help is in my nature.”

“But, all of the things that I’ve done. The things that I will do.” His arms tightened further around her, drawing her in closer. But no fear coursed through her veins. “How can anyone give me kindness?”

She pulled away ever so slightly so she could look him in the eyes. “Kindness is the one thing that  _ I _ choose. It's the only thing that I have left, Lithmyr.” She shivered at the finality in her own voice. “Everyone deserves kindness.”

His hands drifted up her back before they lay flat against the exposed skin. How she hated these dresses with their tight cut and slits that went every which way. This one was a rich purple, with silver ferns embroidered onto the fabric of the skirt. The bodice itself was cut tight against her sadly thin form, with long trailing sleeves embroidered with little flying birds and flowers. But, it was entirely backless.

His eyes met hers again. “Even a bastard son of Silverblade?”

Lan fought the urge to snicker at his surprisingly lighthearted tone. Though it felt like it would break the spell that had suddenly wrapped itself around them. “You are no bastard of Silverblade, Lithmyr.”

“You are good, Landrelia. Too good.” He smiled at her for a moment, watching her hand come up to cup his cheek warily. Whether he expected her to hit him or what, she wasn’t entirely sure, but his eyes drifted closed as her palm met his cheek.

Her thumb brushed away the remnant of a tear. They had made his cheeks all shiny in the moonlight. “I’ve told you, Lith, what we have to do will happen regardless of how we feel about each other.” She brushed hair from his eyes, fawning over him much like a mother would do. His eyes drooped closed as her fingers scratched at his scalp.

His hands drifted up to hers, pulling them gently from himself. “I will not come to you until you wish for me to do so, Landrelia. I am no monster.” Something burned in those eyes. Something that he wanted her to understand. There was a lingering pain, something that would eat at him forever. 

He stood and knelt before her, taking up one of her hands in his. “This is my promise, before the Light of Elune on this night. No harm shall ever come to you because of me. No pain, no sorrow, no hatred.” His eyes burned into hers. It stole away Lan’s breath with his fiery sincerity. How different Lithmyr was when he wasn’t Nilan’s puppet. He seemed softer, more prone to poetics and drama. Well, perhaps he’d always been prone to being dramatic.

Lan took all of this in and found herself smiling. She would not let Nilan make her hate these two. She would fight for them. Protect them. They were lost and wayward but they had grown up just as wounded as she.

She nodded once. “Then it will be so, Lithmyr. Elune watch over you.”


	6. Hiding

“Sadrimyr. Lyorien. Come here.” He called, kicking the door closed behind him. He balanced a small bowl in one hand, keeping a careful eye on the contents. It was dark enough to stain your skin for days and he only had so much. The dutiful girl came bounding into the room. He wished she had her pine green hair or her nose or her eyes. But she was his copy. Poor girl was cursed to look like him, he’d tell himself ruefully. He remembered the day she was born. He was more scared than Lan had been, pacing the room like an animal, running off to get whatever she asked for. He was able to keep the servants from knowing what was happening. Thought he was sure Nilan wouldn’t mind this child, he had no voice for Fanarol. He would be furious. There was the small fact that it hadn’t been just one, either. Lyorien came much slower. He was always so reserved and quiet. A still water run deep.

He set the bowl down on the side table, kneeling before his children. “I have to do something for your sake and you’re not going to like it.” He ruffled their Silverblade hair, silken between his fingertips.

The feeling reminded him of Lan’s hair and by extension the night they had shared. How she told him that she wanted to do this on her own terms, before Nilan extended his control over Lith again. Sincerity burned in her eyes. Lan was easy to read, like an open book. All you had to do was look at her eyes. She was the first genuine person he’d met in a long while. Since Tary. She’d held him. Gave him soft words.

Sadri was pouting in front of him, bringing him back from his drifting thoughts. She loved her silver hair. He loved it too. It marked her as his. Undeniably Silverblade. The thought made his lips quirk into a smile. He loved to brush their hair until it shone like moonlight. “What do you mean, An’da?” Her lip trembled slightly as she gripped a curly lock. “Are you going to shave it off?”

He let out a laugh. “No, sweet one. As funny as that may be.” He cupped her chin. “We have to make you look like you belong to someone else, otherwise the bad men are going to come and take you away from me.” At that, Lyorien shoved himself into Lith’s arms, along with his sister. Sadri’s muffled voice came to him. “I don’t want them to take me away from you, An’da. I’d kill them first.”

He smiled again, wrapping his arms around his twins. “I know you would, Sadrimyr. My little saber.” He leaned away from the both of them and dipped into the dye with a brush. He gave each of them a dusky blue stripe, much like his own color. Or even Landrelia’s mother, Aharia. They both stood still as he finished the rest of their hair. When he had finished, he found a mirror and leaned it against the wall so they both could see their reflection. Luckily, the dye dried fairly quickly so they could put their hands through it without much worry about stains. “Did grandma really have hair like this?”

“Your grandmother had beautiful hair exactly like this.” He paused for a moment as he braided her hair and tied it off, moving onto Lyorien’s. “Her name was Aharia as well. Remember that name, Sadri. You have it as a middle name.” He smiled at Sadri looking fiercely at herself in the mirror, while Lyo clasped his hands together in front of him, a gentle smile on his lips as he beheld his reflection.

The gesture had Lan written all over it.

“When will we see Min’da again?” Lyorien said nonchalantly, focused more on his own face as he stared at his reflection. What did he see there Lithmyr had often wondered. Was he searching for the bits of Landrelia that had etched onto his thin little face? The chips of amber in his otherwise silver eyes, just as silver as his hair, that said that he was Landrelia’s son? The angles of his face that looked near identical to Lan?

Lithmyr thought that the twins wouldn’t remember when he had to take Lan from her prison. They were barely walking when Sadrimyr fell sick. Then Lyorien quickly after his sister. Caught a pox of some sort. He sat in their room, between the both of them, listening to their breaths rattle through their thinning chests. How many times did he describe every symptom to their mother? How many days did he let them sit and suffer because he was too afraid of everyone being discovered by Nilan and his demon?

He’d finally had enough and brought the twins back to their birthplace, glad their luck hadn’t run out, with Nilan gone for another long stint Goddess knew where. She gave them such gentle treatment, mixing her herbs together until they were better. 

She’d told him that Rynath had the same sickness when he was a babe, running from the demons in the War of the Ancients. Though Rynath had been significantly younger than these two. It had just taken some of Elune’s faith to bring him back around. But Sadri and Lyorien had no such luxury. They had to heal slowly until Lith was finally presented with the children he had grown used to.

It tore at him, to leave Lan behind. To watch her fall in love with her children all over again only to have them ripped from her anew.

“I’m not sure, Lyorien. Perhaps after I’m long gone.”


	7. The Loss of a Mother

Lan'reli shoved aside the massive carved doors of Machera'heim. The saber ranch felt oddly empty, even though people milled about the entire place, getting it ready for vacancy until such a time came that the Moonblades might return. For a moment, it seemed silly. Her mind had the fleeting thought of her sister and brother in law merely taking a long vacation away from Machera’heim, that they were just entrusting Ay’hrae to Reli for a short while.

Not that they were both butchered in the woods just outside her home.

Not that Jaisia was with them as well, leaving behind her young son, already in Reli’s care.

The sudden realization had Reli sway on her feet just outside her niece’s door. Ice constricted her chest. Her sister. Her twin.

Gone.

Half of her very being had been torn from her. All in the name of some folly that they’d been cooking up for years. Planning everything to the last detail for everything to go horribly, horribly wrong.

She remembered when the Royal Guard deposited Tor’landa’s belonging at the doorstep of Elunheim. Her rent shield. The once gleaming dragonscaled armor covered in gore and blood, with a punch at the joint of the breastplate and gorget. The faintest stain of indigo along Jai’alator’s length.

The servants brought the armor into the armory. She was the one who carried Jai’alator into the room, all in a daze, clutching onto the handle like it would bring Tor’landa running through the doors. She could hear the faintest echoes, a sound of battle, screaming. A gurgle of blood. A curse.

Blinding pain had flashed through her then. Enough to make her sit in a nearby chair, staring off at her armor on the far wall of the armory, motionless. Jai’alator still clutched in her hands. Hours passed, until someone entered.

Shadon. Telling her that Ay’hrae needed them both.

And so here she was, standing outside her niece’s room, struggling to catch her breath.

After a moment, she straightened and smoothed herself out, the heavy folds of her dress dragging at her body. It was dark purple, nearly black, threaded with silver upon the bodice. Mourning colors. Her floor length pine hair was braided behind her shoulders, cascading down her back, threatening to drift over the stone floors of Machera’heim. Reli adjusted the diadem upon her head and pushed open the door.

Servants looked up at the newcomer, some with a barest hint of relief, others with dread. Though Lan’reli’s presence did not calm them completely.

And Lan’reli instantly knew why.

Ay’hrae, sweet darling little Ay’hrae, sat across from Queen Azshara. Resplendent in an expensive gown, fitted to her perfectly, not a hair out of place. Accompanied by a multitude of handmaidens and servants herself, all equally beautiful. What less for the Light of Lights? 

Ay’hrae was done up in a like fashion, though with her own clothing, the more expensive looking ones at that. But she looked freshly scrubbed and brushed, her hair done up in an elaborate braided style that looked like it had come straight from Zin’Azshari.

Azshara smiled sweetly and all, laughing along with Ay’hrae when the time called for it as they made small talk. But there was a crackle in the air. A tang of anger and the bitterness of betrayal.

_ Azshara has the idea to feel  _ **_betrayed?_ **

She finally noticed Lan’reli, turning and offering her a faked warm smile, beckoning her over. “Ah, Lan’reli! So good to see you again my friend. My heart is glad that you’ve made it here in once piece.”

She stood and drifted over to Lan’reli, ever the picture of grace, and enveloped her in an embrace for the barest of moments. “I just wanted to extend my,  _ personal _ , condolences to the young Lady of the Nightsong Woods now that her mother is-”

“I thank you, Your Grace. It gladdens my heart to see you as well.” Lan’reli smiled inwardly to see Azshara thrown off by her interruption. Always the Queen.

She cleared her throat and resumed her smile. “Of course.”

“If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I have to speak with my niece.” She bowed to Azshara and knelt in front of Ay’hrae, murmuring hellos and little jokes to make the girl feel better.

“Mother’s not coming home, is she?” Her voice was achingly sad.

It tore right through Reli. “No, my sweet one, she is not.” Her hands cupped Ay’hrae’s small face, making her look in her eye, “But you’ll come to Elunheim with me and live with Nilan and Shaellian and Illidren.”

“Forever?”

“For as long as you wish it, sweet one.”

“Do you promise you won’t leave me too, auntie?”

Reli was taken aback once more, her brows knitting together, as she gazed at the sincerity burning in Rae’s eyes. “I promise, sweet one, I will never leave you. I swear it on my life.”

Rae stared at her for a long moment, as if she was weighting her words. Then she nodded and scooted off of the chair. Reli wasted no time, gathering Rae’s hand into her own and taking off for the door.

Azshara cleared her throat, causing Reli to pause and turn back towards her, a frisson of fear going up her spine at the Queen’s expression.

“I hope you will remember, Lan’reli, what happened here,” The Queen gave her a pointed look, accompanied by a smile, “And take care that it does not happen again. I like, daresay, love, the Moonblade family. It would be a shame to see it disappear like the Issra’kalah.” 

Azshara gave her a small wave as she turned, still holding onto Ay’hrae’s small hand, and fled from the room. Disbelief covered her like a blanket, making her movements jerky, almost automatic.

They walked out into the moonlight, hand in hand, with Lan’reli feeling like she barely escaped with her life.


End file.
